


Honmei

by NoelleAngelFyre



Series: Utsutsu No Yume [4]
Category: Tokyo Mew Mew
Genre: Attempted Flirting, Awkward Romance, Chocolate, F/M, Honmei choco, Making conversation over chocolate, Shyness, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: Once again, similarity weaves a delicate link between them, and Pai is equal parts wary of and desperate for it.





	Honmei

He follows Retasu’s paths into the evening: her departure from the library, retrieval of her brother, and finally to the place called home: a modest loft in the suburbs. The pair fixes a meal together, sit at a table, and talk for nearly three hours. Then she ensures the boy is properly bathed and dressed for bed, kisses him goodnight, and retires to her own bedroom.

For exactly ten minutes, Pai wrestles over the improper implications of hovering outside her bedroom window, primarily because the mere thought beckons familiarity to Kisshu’s imbecilic behavior with his red-haired obsession, seven years prior.

It doesn’t stop him from finding a perch in this exact location; in the delay of his internal conflict, she has washed and dressed for bed. Her chosen attire is modest: only a delicate sliver of skin at her clavicle is left exposed by the pale blue garments. In silence, he watches her intently read one of the many books on her desk and then write for about an hour on a computerized device. She wears devices in each ear and sways her head time to time, as if to music only she could hear. Finally, after several hours, she stands, stretches, and opens a cabinet of respectable size to retrieve items within.

That’s when things take a turn—for better or ill, he’ll be deciding for days to come.

It is hardly the notion of a woman her age playing with dolls (Pai plays with machines, after all; everyone is entitled their own vice) but rather the specific form which these dolls possess. The size is diminutive, obviously, but there can be no mistaking a distinctly-shaped set of ears which align perfectly to his own. This doll, in particular, is of a female donning a simple frock with belt of shimmering fabric; long hair, pale cloth for skin, two eyes stitched blue…but no mouth.

Yet.

He watches, fascinated against his better judgment, as Retasu carefully studies her creation for a moment; then, with great focus, she draws thread through needle and began stitching lips in the cloth. It takes relatively little time, about as much as it would take him to program a new system, and the doll’s vision is completed in a gentle smile of pale pink.

What, exactly, bothers him so much about the whole affair is a perplexing mystery. Fine: so she makes dolls who bear likeness to his people: it is unusual, given the history between his kind and hers, but she is of a kindly and forgiving heart and thus it is hardly worthy of such intense consideration. If nothing else, perhaps she sells them for profit and small human children find the unusual appearance endearing.

The fact that the doll has blue eyes and emerald locks and wears a rich purple gown is…completely coincidental.

“You look well, Pai-san.”

He manages to not embarrass himself with a graceless stumble, otherwise engrossed in his recollections that a second person joining in his solitude evaded awareness, but still starts visibly and is half-prepared to unleash an attack—before, that is, he recognizes the woman standing in his doorway.

With such proximity, her scent carries on the wind: something sweet and dry. Hers is an aroma of dried flower petals and old books, and a faintly bitter tinge of chemicals. Pai wonders if it is cleaning product, likely one of several used in reassembling her place of employment back to perfection. He almost asks, then decides it doesn’t matter.

There is another aroma in the air. Pai blinks. Sees the parcel in her arms. Retasu (is he, in fact, allowed to call her that?) follows his line of vision and smiles. “Kisshu came by earlier and happened to mention where you all had settled. …He also mentioned you…might not have eaten recently?”

She phrases it as a question: polite and gracious. Pai elects to accept her hospitality with as much dignity as possible, hastily adjusting furniture to accommodate as best he can, while silently envisioning the most torturous fate for his cousin. Maybe following through on an oft-repeated threat of suturing lips will suffice.

Retasu promises to not stay long, lest this meal she’s brought get cold. She smiles— _smiles_ …at him. She smiles at _him_ —and offers her hope that he will enjoy it, this food. He briefly thinks to be insulted, that she would just leave; then he thinks perhaps she is merely being polite and in fact is uncomfortable to be in the same proximity as himself, likely distrustful he will not attempt her harm.

Then reality breaks over his head like a glass plate: she assumes (not incorrectly) that he wants to be left alone. This has nothing to do with _her_ lacking manners, but rather his own.

Retasu bids him goodnight before he can stumble over some haphazard invitation to stay, to eat with him. He eats in silence, halfway furious with himself and halfway relieved. The relief bothers him. It implies he doesn’t want to see her—or rather, doesn’t want to make the effort of interacting with her beyond distant-observation. It declares him utterly incompetent at normal relationships, however formal and polite, and he can think of nothing more accurate.

…The food is delicious.

***

He spends three days rehearsing the most practical, least over-used, and respectable lines known to exist within the mortal realm, then offers a silent request – up to any Higher Power which might deign to be favorable – that this whole affair might not be a complete debacle.

“Pai-san,” Retasu says, without any alarm or bewilderment at his presence in the little café; she smiles at him as though this is entirely normal, and holds her hands out for the dishware he has returned (thoroughly cleaned so as to be restored for intended purpose), “was everything to your liking?”

It takes exactly thirty-two seconds for the pathway between thought and intelligent speech to rebuild itself following an unexpected dismantling in the wake of her smile; the only consolation is found in a normal tone of speech – impressive, when he was drearily anticipating some embarrassing cacophony. “Quite.” For want of _something_ to do with his hands, he takes hold of the polished countertop and makes a pretense of leaning back against its structure, “It was, in a word, excellent.”

“There’s no better word to give.” She answers with the same smile; has it always seemed such a dazzling expression, or is he suffering a psychological ailment? “Since you’re here, would you mind giving your culinary opinion again?”

With the prompt of both words and a hand gesture, he notices a small bowl filled with contents unknown but of a favorable color. Retasu fetches a clean spoon, retrieves a sampling, and offers it to him, “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.” She explains, and while he has no concept of just what this particularly day signifies, he doesn’t interrupt with questions, “I have tried three different times to get the recipe right, but something was always wrong about it. Everyone tells me it tastes fine, but I _know_ it doesn’t.”

Neatly tucked away in the dialogue is a statement which Pai is not entirely sure can be classified as a compliment, but perhaps it is not a direct insult: she provides him with a sample and seeks his opinion with the (correctly-made) assumption that he will not fabricate assurances simply to console her, as the others clearly have.

There is a strange bit of flattery woven therein as well, and he responds by taking an extra minute to examine the taste for a full analysis.

“Sweet.” He finally declares, “Though I presume this recipe is meant to be such, it is excessively so. Also, I detect a separate flavor which might be pleasant; however, the sweetness drowns it out.”

“ _Thank_ you.” Retasu seems overwhelmingly delighted with his conclusion, and immediately disposes of the original contents to start a new batch, “I knew I wasn’t crazy. Oh—and caramel.”

Pai blinks, “…I beg your pardon?”

“Caramel.” She repeats, “That’s the ‘mystery flavor’ you were tasting. It’s supposed to be, as you said, the _primary_ flavor, not sugar.” She shakes her head with an amused sound, “That’s what I get for taking Pudding-san’s advice.”

What should, he is sure, result in an awkward sense of suspension proves anything but: finding a comfortable rest against the counter space, Pai stays with her long into the night while she works on the latest batch. The chemical process which goes into food preparation is most certainly fascinating: the measurements, the precise way in which each ingredient must be combined lest the entire formula be ruined…and above all, the calculating gaze in blue eyes as Retasu takes every step into consideration.

Once again, similarity weaves a delicate link between them, and Pai is equal parts wary of and desperate for it.

She begins spooning small amounts from the bowl to a metal sheet of pre-designated shapes until every slot (numbering twelve) is filled. She then repeats the process with two identical sheets. Finally, she puts all three into a refrigerating unit and dusts her hands with an air of finality.

“I didn’t mean for you to keep me company all night.” Retasu says, as if an apology, and slips into her coat, “I’m sure you have much better things to do.”

“I am not as certain of that fact.” He says, before the words can be helped. A fine dusting of pink coats her cheeks in an expression Pai remembers from years ago, accompanied by a tender smile.

“I enjoyed it too.” She murmurs, and once more she speaks everything he meant to say and ultimately could not.

***

The next evening, Pai finds a little box left on his work station. Inside, six pieces of chocolate nestled in colored tissue paper. Attached is a small handwritten note:

_With love,_

_Retasu_

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a piece focusing on all three of the Alien/Mew couples, but Retasu and Pai stole the show.
> 
> Title comes from "honmei choco", chocolate given by women to men (for whom the giver has romantic feelings) on Valentine's Day. It should be noted at this point that the majority of my knowledge on Japanese culture comes from the Internet; if at any time I am misrepresenting facts, please don't hesitate to (kindly) point it out in a review. I fully accept constructive criticism on this. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.


End file.
